


Difficult Adjustments

by PhantomWarrior99



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-14
Updated: 2019-08-14
Packaged: 2020-08-23 06:24:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,827
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20238214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhantomWarrior99/pseuds/PhantomWarrior99
Summary: When you’re sick, sometimes all it take is for an archangel to drop by and crack a few jokes.





	Difficult Adjustments

"Y/N, bright and early means bright and early. Come on, we need to hit the road." Dean looks up as you shuffle into the war room, dragging your duffel behind you.

You feel like death, or, more accurately, on the _verge _of death. It's the dead of winter and you've managed to pick up a hell of a cold that has you feeling like you'd rather drop than fight whatever monster Sam's picked up on.

"Dean, I don't feel good." You heave the bag up onto the table, scrubbing at your face as if it'll scrub away the congestion and pounding headache.

"Our almighty _Chief _is getting ready to send the other hunters out. We need you on this, Y/N. So, grab some sudafed and load up." Dean throws the rest of his weapons into his bag before he slings it over his shoulder.

"She's not looking too good, Dean," Sam points out, setting down the cell phone he's had pressed to his ear for the past hour, "You and I can handle it, it sounds like a simple salt and burn anyway."

"When is it _ever _a simple salt and burn, Sam?" Dean nudges his little brother, "Besides, Cas is gonna meet us there and he can heal her before we head out."

"I'd rather sleep," you sink into the nearest chair, folding your arms in front of you on the edge of the table before you rest your forehead on your forearms.

"Come on, hunters don't get sick days. Once you light a corpse on fire, you'll feel better."

"Dean, let her sit this one out."

"Well, who's gonna stay with her? The kid's with Cas, Mom and Bobby are on a hunt and you're about to deploy the mighty hunter army. It's not like _Gabriel _is here to take care of her." Dean stops when the whole room goes quiet at the mention of the archangel, "He's a douche, but he's on our side," he assures the apocalypse hunters and they turn back to their tasks.

Sam sighs, "He's gonna flip if he shows up and no one is here with Y/N."

"Y/N is here and is _very _capable of handling _herself_. I may be sick, but I'm not inept. Go, hunt, salt and burn. If our Favorite Feathered Friend shows up, I'll assure him that I insisted you all leave so I could sleep."

"I thought _Cas _was the triple F," Sam glances towards you, a cross between amusement and confusion etched into his features.

"I'm backing you up, Samuel. Take it and _leave_." You lift your head just enough to scowl at the youngest Winchester.

"I heard my name."

All eyes dart to the archangel propped lazily against the doorframe to the hallway. The room echoes with the cocking of weapons and the Winchesters are the first to react.

"Lower your weapons. Crew, this is Gabriel. Gabriel, this is the hunting crew," Dean makes the introductions, glancing around the room, "I'm serious, people, weapons down."

"Nice to see you have an automated defense system now, Samsquatch," Gabriel remarks, pushing off the wall, gazing expectantly at the hunters as their weapons slowly begin to lower, "Maybe you two knuckleheads will stay alive for once."

"Maybe _you'll _stay alive for once," Dean counters, a proud smirk slipping across his features at his successful comeback.

"Hey, I only _fake _my death, I don't _actually _die."

"Gabriel--" Sam starts with a sigh, swiftly silenced by your interjection.

"Well _I'm _ready to die. Can youeither heal me or put me out of my misery, feathers?" You look directly at the archangel, an expectant look on your face.

He paces closer, golden hues drifting from your exhausted frame to the hunters around you, "What seems to be the problem, sweetcheeks?"

"I'm _sick_."

"Ah, yes. _That's _why tweedledee and tweedledum were worried about no one being home with you." He tilts his head slightly, "Well, more accurately, worried about how _I _might react if they didn't take care of you."

"Gee, I wonder why _that _is," you sigh, leaning back in your seat before you cross your arms in annoyance.

"And why's that?" A cocky grin slips across his lips.

You narrow your eyes at the archangel, "Healme and stop being a dick."

"So demanding," Gabriel tsks, shaking his head as he paces closer.

"My head is pounding and I'm congested as fuck, now would you _please _use that damned angel glitter to heal this cold before I cough on you."

Gabriel snorts indelicately, vaguely aware of the snickers echoing through the war room and he smiles, "All right, sugar," he touches your forehead lightly and the cold disappears.

_"Thank you_," you huff, inhaling deeply in relief.

"You're welcome." He appears in the seat beside you, startling the apocalypse hunters near you, "So, Sam, how's it feel to be the head honcho?"

You're vaguely aware of the archangel's arm slung haphazardly across the back of your seat. You're not entirely sure what to make of the situation; he's always there, any catastrophe, any minor inconveniences, he's _there_, rushing to your aid. Ever since the alternate universe Michael, ever since he hitched a ride back to your earth inside your meat suit, he's been particularly attentive and you're not sure what, if _anything, _would inspire such a change in an archangel with commitment issues.

You're thrown from your thoughts by a nudge from Gabriel, blinking rapidly for a moment before y/e/c finds whiskey, "What?"

"I asked how you're feeling, given that that pretty little mind of yours is going a thousand miles a minute." There's an upward twitch to the corner of his lips, an emotion you can't quite grasp glinting in his eyes.

"I'm fine," you slide to the edge of your seat, putting as much distance between the warmth of his arm and your back, every sense heightened by his proximity.

He offers little more than a nod, turning a majority of his attention back the Winchesters. The distraction allows you a moment to think, to notice his being fill every inch of the room, at least, every inch around you. It's a comfort, almost like a blanket curled around your frame, easing every muscle, calming every nerve with a tender warmth flourishing in feather-light touches against your skin.

You steal a glance towards the archangel, studying his profile quietly. There's a playful smirk etched into his features, a slight quirk of the eyebrow when Sam suggests he come along on the hunt. Your eyes dart back to your bag, attempting to look busy when Gabriel shifts his gaze back to you.

"What do you think, sugar?"

"What do I think what?" You question, sliding the chair back, forcing his arm from the back of your seat.

"About me tagging along? Giving those knuckleheads a hand?" The corner of his lips curl upwards in a mischievous smirk, jerking his head slightly in the brothers' general direction.

"Be my guest. Maybe then, you'll get to make some new friends in our little hunter army and torment _them _every once in awhile."

"Doubtful, they all look ready to dip me in holy oil and set me ablaze from the the wings up." He pops up out of the chair with more enthusiasm than usual, pacing around the chair towards you.

"They need a chance to get to know you, feathers. This is as good a time as any." You zip up your duffel before you fold your arms in front of your chest.

He stops just short of you, a cocky grin replacing the smirk, "I think we're plenty acquainted."

"You need to work on your people skills," you square your shoulders a little more, forcing the amusement from your voice.

The cockiness fades to mischief as he steps closer, "That's not what you said _last _time I was here."

A scowl slips across your features as you smack his chest, voice chiding with a sharp, "_Gabriel!_"

Somewhere, amongst the sea of hunters, there are some snickers, a few widened eyes and borderline judgmental gazes. The archangel's ego seems to soar by one look in particular, an almost jealous glint in one hunter's eyes before she turns back to her gear.

"Something happen after he hitched a ride home?" Dean queries, glancing between the two of you.

"No." It's an abrupt return as you straighten your jacket and sling your pack across your shoulder, "There's a ghost to put to rest, come on."

"Now, hold on a minute," Dean's eyes shift from you to Gabriel and back again, "Did you two--"

"Get laid? Sleep together? Satisfy some carnal desire to ravage one another?" Gabriel's arm eases around your shoulder and tugs you closer.

"...yeah?" Dean's features contort in disgust, noting the aggravated snarl you've trained on the archangel.

"Nope, didn't happen." Gabriel shrugs, pulling away and proceeds to inspect a salt pellet shell on the table.

There's another wave of snickers and side eyes that you can't help but notice, frustration growing by the second.

You know he can feel it, his running gag easing the palpable tension in the room--you only wish it didn't come at the cost of your sanity.

"Right, well...if you're coming with us, no funny business. I don't want Baby to be scarred by your dirty jokes," Dean picks up his bag, watching Sam hand out hunt assignments and the tension seems to melt away with the return of order.

You watch the hunters file out, offering little more than a glance towards the pleased archangel, attention he no doubt enjoys given his expression. It's a sort of dignified glee, a pleasant smile and a buzzing energy that flows off his frame in waves, crashing against your rigid form until you cave with an upward twitch to the corner of your lips.

"_Now _you're plenty acquainted."

"I'd say that went well, wouldn't you, cupcake?" Gabriel turns to face you, gauging the sincerity of your smile.

You wait until the last hunter has left before you meet his gaze, "Better than it could have. _But, _if you _ever _insinuate we've slept together when we haven't, I _will _clip your wings, understand?"

Your warning does little to alter his mood as a low chuckle rolls through his chest before he steps closer, his hands smoothing over your waist, "What if I didn't have to insinuate anymore?"

"Believe me, that's not going to happen."

"Oh, sweetheart, I've already _been _inside you, the rest is just a formality we can--"

"Whoa!" Dean interjects, "That's enough of that," he grabs your forearm, pulling you out of the indignant archangel's grasp, "Y/N, you're riding with me. Sam will drive your car."

"I'm not a child," you jerk your arm away.

"You rather ride with the horny angel over there?"

"...fine. This conversation isn't over, feathers." You point at him sternly, moving towards the door beside Dean.

"It never is, sugar."

\-----------------------

**Author's Note:**

> Hey folks!  
Ah, an anon on tumblr sent me this wonderful prompt and it took me forever to finish it. I hope y'all enjoyed it!  
Please leave a kudo/comment to let me know your thoughts! :)  
~ Phantom


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